BB King is twanging in the ceiling, largely drowned out by the chatter of customers, the clatter of the kitchen, and the hum of extractor fans over the ovens. The hooting laughter from an elderly couple in the corner, lubricated by a bottle of red and another of white, punctuate the din. Chairs scrape. A Lebanese behind the counter shouts in good humour to a man who struggles with his English too – he has been here eight weeks, fled from a Swedish winter. They both struggle with their English and shout in increasingly loud tones to make each other understand – it is a common mistake. Read more